


Irrelevance of Time

by sleepserum



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Drowning, Introspection, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:40:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23998432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepserum/pseuds/sleepserum
Summary: Three years later, Dimitri is ensnared by a peculiar song leading him to follow it into an unknown forest.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Kudos: 22





	Irrelevance of Time

**Author's Note:**

> Written on: 05/04/2020  
> Written by: Sleepserum
> 
> Three years after so this is during the time skip.
> 
> For reference, I was listening to these while writing it: 【古琴Guqin】《不染》, 【古琴Guqin】《初见》

_My lullaby, your requiem._

* * *

There are words lost in time, overshadowed by what has brought salvation to the masses — words that which history is engraved on it. There are moments lost in memories, in a sea of desire creeping upon, feasting upon, what is most desirable and least desirable — eating away the simplest and mundane moments from the thoughts. There are stories passed from word of mouth, altered through the time — words falling as a different word takes its place, stories passed and told to the liking of one — variations then begin. 

Everything and anything is lost in time. Time spent and time reserved — in stillness and in movement, anything can be taken away. In a fleeting moment or in prolonged endurance something is bound to be lost. Even if it is not inherently a memory, a word, a moment, a song, or a story — it could be a person themselves.

* * *

There is a distant hymn that resounds, echoes, throughout the tower — beginning faintly from the first flight of stairs until it resonates to the to. Beginning as soft vibrations until coherent notes are heard. 

Dimitri raises his head — unalert, still and unwavering from his seclusion. The sonorous notes echo within his chambers, filling his thoughts with a drowning sensation. He thinks it is once again the night hauntings that firmly so take what is left of slumber for him, however, unlike the many nights the past three years — this was the most beautiful haunting he had heard. Akin to the slow plucked strings in a hard, the soft blowing the flute as if like a secret serenade at night — it was nothing like the organs that play such monstrous notes in the church, the way each press of innocent fingers on the keys would resound a note too loud it strikes through the heart — through the ears — as if to tell that there is only one song and that is for the church itself.

The song continues, lacking of any words, only the beautiful harmonization of the sounds that mingle with the blowing of the wind through the trees — the shake of branches and leaves against each other and the minimal tweeting of the nightly birds. It is sonorous and slow, one that sinks — doesn’t bite, like a slow piercing of a dagger through the flesh and the crevices of the ribcages until the tip of the blade reaches the beating organ — cutting through the thinnest sheet of muscles and nerves. 

There is warmth that pools by his cheeks, all cold and peculiar — none of the haunting nights had ever done this to him — almost shackled with burning hot metal cuffs around his ankles, chains that bound around his chest, preventing him to breathe — as if thrown into the tidal waves where he is to inevitably drown along with the weight of the shackles all around him. There’s an unfamiliar liquid that wells up by the corners of his eyes — a shaky breath is drawn before exhaled, along with it tears stream down. 

It is a sonorous hymn, a song that which he’s never heard, a song that so miraculously drowns every other voice in his head into blurs until it is nothing but silence. For once, for once, his head is at peace — only filled with the beautiful notes this song had ingrained in his mind. Dimitri’s grasp around his lance tightens, _it was an unacceptable turn of events_ , afraid — too afraid — that this would be his most daunting nightmare yet, a song he’s never heard yet finds itself to creep into the core of his thoughts, nestled warmly and safely into the depths of his heart — slowly, slowly, filling the emptiness. 

He blows a heavy sigh, closing his eyes — for once, for once — there is nothing that flashes before his eyes; he is unsure if the darkness was any better than the bloodshed and fires that flared in his mind. Unsure what it means if it’s better. He opens his eyes — painstakingly, begrudgingly, stands on his two feet as he walks to the windows. The metal boots he wears resound with each clack of his step — his hand rests by the stone windowsill — looking over from his tower. 

There is only the quiet, that envelopes the night, nonthing — none of the faintest cry and scream of war. He looks over at the heavens where little stars dared to show itself, despite that, the moon was at its fullest. The song doesn’t stop — in fact, it grows louder as if to draw him in. It’s a melancholic play, all too solemn and yet too similarly like a lullaby, soothing and sleep-inducing. 

Dimitri finds himself treading down the stairs, gaze devoid of any emotions despite the tears he had just shed. It doesn’t take long when he’s finally found himself at the last stair, having blindly forgotten of the corpses by the staircase — not that they ever mattered. 

He thinks, perhaps, the tower was haunted in itself — but he’s resolved that everything had always been in his mind. The voices — the memories — they have always been morphed figments of his memories. But this song, a piece of music that never once had he ever heard found itself replaying over and over again in his mind. He thinks, perhaps, that the haunting voices have begun to drown and lost its impact, thus, washing over the flares of vengeance in his heart — but he thinks that is not the case. They are still vivid, every morning he wakes to — the sun is at its brightest, most golden of its color — all orange and yellow with hints of red in the sky similar to the flames of war. 

He treads along the grassy path, following the music — as if swayed and controlled by an invisible puppeteer. It’s far too solemn, too tragic — a sad hymn. _Almost like a funeral song sung in a chantry._ He couldn’t find it in himself to turn away, ignore, and go back to slumber — alone with the haunting thoughts. 

This was significantly better, or worse, but the compass didn’t matter — at this moment all Dimitri aimed is to let time flow, to be in the moment. 

* * *

_In the face of death — time becomes irrelevant._

Dimitri pauses for a moment, looks up at the sky — the moon stays the same, all in its fullest and brightest form. He thinks hours and hours have passed — that too much time has passed that this moment could be considered impossible. The sun must be rising by now. He looks back and the Garreg Mach is nowhere in sight, the paths are all obscured and he’s lost in a sea of trees. It’s dark, barely any light, and had it not been for the moon then it would be pitch black. 

The air feels stuffier than usual, though it retains its usual coolness. His legs are beginning to ache, he wonders how long he had been walking. And though the tiredness has dawned upon him, hunger doesn’t exactly surface nor does the desire to lay down and catch a few minutes of slumber. More than ever, he was more determined to find himself in a place he thinks is where his destination is.

Again, it plays again, that melancholic music is playing. 

His steps become heavier, the earth as if swallowing his foot — bringing him closer underground. Dimitri takes heavy, ragged breaths with each moment he continues. The deeper he goes into the forest — the darer it becomes, trees obscuring the moonlight, at some point, he will wander aimlessly into the night in this forest. 

This time, however, it wasn’t only the song filling his thoughts, images begin to color in his mind — all ambiguous and blurred. There’s a twist in his heart that indescribable, he clenches his teeth — the uncertainty sending a trembling sense of trepidation. It’s beautiful though— colors of vivid greenery, colorful flowers — it seemed to be, there could be nothing else as colorful. There’s a shiver that sends chills down his spine, he’s never seen such a thing — he was certain this is simply imagination, not a memory. 

_A child._ There is a child that runs around the greenery, admiring the flowers — though the face is blurred, colors unidentifiable. Shades of black and white hindering the mind to process the realness of the character. _A father_ , arms crossed around his chest as he gleefully watches his child, or, at least, that was how it seemed to be. _A mother_ , or so it seems, in a picture frame that was neatly placed on the garden table.

Dimitri thinks it’s a memory of the past, some sort of childhood memory — but this was not his, he doesn’t recall any of this — the image fo the man in his mind is far from how his father looks and he doesn’t believe and is quite certain that the boy was not himself. The uncertainty grows along with it was curiosity — there was eagerness flourishing in his heart, an unmistakable need growing hungry to attain answers, not simply to satiate his curiosities — there was something warm, something deeper, that led him to believe that knowing what this was would be a key to figuring out why, in the first place, was he hearing this song and going out of his way — almost defenseless — into the night.

There are no new images that cross his mind, only a repeat of what had been shown. Nonetheless, there seemed to be a change of scenery — through the darkness, light emerges — a beautiful, bright cyan colored vines, fireflies, or blue diamond dust floating around, bringing light into this void forest. There is a small trail of water, shallow and barely past the sole of his shoe — it was not muddy or murky — it was akin to the neon-colored vines, a beautiful vivid cyan with a mixture of dark, ocean blues. 

It’s almost magical — ethereal — Dimitri’s eyes shone with a peculiar childlike enthusiasm; it was a sight unfolding right before his eyes and a place he’s never seen before. He thinks he’s treaded across all lands of Fodlan, but that seems to be proven wrong. He had never, not once, stepped foot in this forest — not once had he ever seen waters such as these or vines like these. 

Almost hurriedly, too eagerly, his quickens his pace — walking forward, not at all hesitating or even dragging his weary feet any longer. His breath is heavy, though quick, as he sees the water streams becoming larger. His heart loses control, the way it quickens its pace is similar to the bloodlust that runs through his veins in the battlefield, it rushes up to his head, sending a hazy daze of desire throughout his body. 

This time, he sees deers — eyes void as if it lacks even of it — they are wide and highly contrasting with the way their skin glows in a bright blue color, there was diamond dust that emanates from them with each delicate and slow movement. Dimitri pauses, gaze locking with the deer — for a moment, it was almost as if the deer was looking into his soul. There’s a twinge of guilt that surfaces, one he’s found unfamiliar after far too long in his plans for vengeance. 

He looks away continuing to move forward, for a moment he glances back and sees that the deer had gone to walk away as well.

* * *

_When it comes to what haunts you, sometimes it is what you’ve been looking for._

The song plays again, much louder this time — and the images grow with color, the child that was once donned in the shades of grey had blurred to have color. Hair was in a beautiful, darker, shade of teal — it was mesmerizing, _familiar_ , and Dimitri was wondering what it was that reminded him of. He took in a sharp breath as he continued walking further.

He wonders, then, how it almost feels like it had been years — somehow, somehow, the image of bloodshed blurs in his mind, all blurred and replaced with the beautiful diamond dust and cyan colored waters and vines, the beautiful — almost ghostly — luminescent deers. There is the feeling of melancholy and somberness that waves though and stirs in his heart as he treads deeper into the forest, there was an enigmatic energy that surfaced within this place as if it was a realm belonging to an entirely different entity. He follows the stream of water and at the end fo the horizon of his vision, he sees — what it seems to be — the end of the path, the depths of this forest — the center. 

There were more plants, mushrooms of all in bright and glowing colors, and in different shades of green and blue a well as flowers he’s never seen before. He bends down — letting his free hand reach out to the flowers, letting a gloved hand touch it. The moment they make contact, dust brushes off its petals, Dimitri blinks twice — in certain amazement and awe as he sees the dust continue to simply float by. 

He stands once again, as he looks at the pond, shrouded with different shrubs and weeds, stones, and pebbles all over the place. The water is just as bright, though the darkens in the middle, and, for some reason, an odd figure seems to be submerged under the water. His breath hitches — the song stops playing and there’s only the quietness of the night, not even the daunting screams and cries were present in his head. He lets his lance down, pulling his cape aside and letting it drop on the ground along with the flowers. He looks at his hands, momentarily hesitant of what he is about to do. 

He takes deep breathes until one by one he removes his gloves, it was peculiar to see his hands, all calloused and scarred. 

For once, he doesn’t see blood on his skin. 

Once both gloves discarded and placed along with his cape, he steps into the pond.

* * *

_When the truth comes to light, when, finally, you realize that all you’ve needed was to find what you’ve once lost._

He thinks, he’s believed, he’s lost himself through the betrayals, the tragedies and in this war — he’s so believed in such he’s forgotten, he’s forgotten — he was Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, he was only one fo his kind, one of his own person. He sees his reflection faintly in the water, the pond doesn’t get any deeper so it seems — unlike the average ponds he’s seen this was only under his chin — it’s a little shallow than usual. There’s an underlying intrusive thought he’d drown but he doesn’t think otherwise. 

He takes a moment to stay, to feel the coolness of the water — it’s almost as if it’s sinking in his body. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes — there are, once again, no images that flash in front of his eyes. He, slowly, submerges himself underwater — letting his head cool along with it. Upon underwater, suddenly, suddenly, there are voices — but it is unlike anything he’s ever heard, unlike any cry he had been so used to hearing. 

_The child is born with no heartbeat._

_Please, even at the expense of my life, save my child._

The images are vivid — the voices echo loudly, the face of the two women are blurred, but hair so green so familiar is clear in the imagery. The child, there is a child, wrapped up comfortably in the cloth — skin pale and eyes closed. The child had no heartbeat, thus, was it born and destined to die at that very moment of life? Dimitri feels his body temperature drop at the events unfolding in his mind. It was nothing like the theatrical plays he’s watched, nothing like the orchestras he’s heard, nothing like the stories he’s read. This seemed almost too real to be a figment of his imagination — in fact, he’s well-aware, that this all seemed to be memories that belonged to someone. That much he could hypothesize. 

The scenario doesn’t continue further, skips through it — there’s a fire, it’s burning the place until it’s nothing but ashes. There is a man, carrying the baby that was supposed to have died at birth, leaving and running away. 

Dimitri raises his head from the waters, uncertain of what it is he had just seen. The confusion doesn’t get any better, there’s a heavy longing hanging in his heart — he thinks it’s filled with the melancholic music not too long ago — but as if in an instant — upon seeing those images, his heart was emptied out. He takes a few deep breaths to recollect himself, trying to regain his composure. He shakes his head then treads further, walking to the other end of the pond where there seemed to be someone submerged and resting by the plentiful rocks. 

His breath hitches upon nearing, a sense of familiarity welling up in his heart.

Before anything else, he dares even look back — he wonders, then, were the weeds always that long — were the trees that tall? Why does it seem that so much has happened? Although it was a question that rings in his mind, he turns back, that wasn’t the concern of the moment.

His hands reach out, wrapping his arms behind their head and back as he raises the body from under the glowing pond.

Dimitri’s eyes are wide, his heart stops of a moment.

“Professor…”

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little drabble of what if during Byleth's disappearance, Dimitri found them? It was just a quick idea I had while playing ngl and I'm not sure if I'll continue it but I'm not even sure if people will like it so... I think the ambiguity of this is fine [looks away]. 
> 
> I'm also hoping I made Byleth neutral here? I didn't want to indicate genders considering people's preferences but if I slipped it's most likely because I played my Byleth male lol. Anyways feel free to leave your thoughts, have a nice day :)


End file.
